


How Terrible It Is

by mirrorheart179



Category: Wizard101
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Prequel, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-13 00:28:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10502652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirrorheart179/pseuds/mirrorheart179
Summary: "How terrible it is to love something death can touch."AKA: 'Why Malistaire Drake went crazy.'The prequel to the main storyline of Wizard101.





	

It was Malistaire's first real duel, and Cyrus was kicking his ass. 

Cyrus had spent six rounds in the tourney so far, throwing opponent and opponent out of the ring with minimal effort. This, for a thirteen year old conjurer, was more than a little impressive.

 First, a novice pyromancer, who practically flew from the practice circle with a rather green pallor, bloodbat spit in her eyes. Two diviners and another conjurer followed her out, in much the same manner. 

Then came a novice theurgist, who held her stance longer, gritting her teeth when Cyrus attacked, and returning in kind with an unusually powerful dark fairy spell. She had been shoved into the ring by an older girl, a necromancer, who cheered as she performed the spell.

The duo competed back and forth several times, with the theurgist healing herself and undoing Cyrus's work at every opportunity. 

Finally, Cyrus got lucky, and knocked her from the ring with a vicious firecat.

A novice balance wizard followed, holding on for some time before also losing to Cyrus.

Then it was Malistaire's turn.                                                                  

It had gone well, at first. After what may have been the longest and closest spar with Cyrus of the day, Malistaire had tripped. His intended spell missed Cyrus by inches and his brother retaliated with a sharp burst of energy that literally knocked Malistaire off his feet. He landed inches outside the ring, skull connecting with the stone floor and lights bursting behind his eyes.

He dully registered the sound of disappointment from the bystanders, a few tapping him on the shoulder as he sat up, holding his head. “Damn you, Cyrus!” He groaned, fuming as he heard his brother laugh distantly.

A new wizard entered the ring and all others lost interest in Malistaire, for which he was more than grateful.

"That's your brother, huh?" A voice said, dropping to his level. Malistaire looked and saw that it was the theurgist girl from earlier. She even looked like a Life student, with earth brown hair and green eyes, which shone with light as she looked at him, grin in place.

"Yeah." Malistaire answered. The back of his head was pounding, he could practically feel his heartbeat in his ears.

"Well, no offense," The girl offered a hand, which he accepted and let her help him to his feet, "but he's a snot."

Malistaire laughed before he could stop himself. "None taken." He said, holding his hand out to her, "Malistaire Drake."

"Sylvia Willowmist." She shook his hand soundly. "Are you going to try again?"

“I’m not sure.”

“You should,” Sylvia said decisively, “One of us has to beat him eventually, right?”

When Malistaire didn’t argue, she took his hand again and dragged him toward the ring.

*** 

So perhaps taking on the infestation of monsters in the haunted cave hadn't been a good idea, but it had been going well until the last turn.

Cyrus, in his infinite study of Wizard City and its occupying monsters, had suggested the cave as a project, citing the defeat of the occupying ghoul as research. In reality, the group of three had lost half of their equipment, all of their dignity, and a not small amount of blood, which was steadily dripping onto the cobblestones from Malistaire Drake's forehead.

They were, however, alive.

"That might have been the saddest thing I've ever seen." Cyrus sneered, dropping his backpack irritably, "What in the spiral was that, Malistaire?"

The aformentioned boy collapsed onto the pavement, gripping his skull.

"That's enough, Cyrus." Sylvia snapped, pulling Malistaire into a sitting position against the curb. The side of his head was bleeding sluggishly. "He's hurt."

Cyrus, to his credit, silenced, though the irritation came off him in continuing waves at their defeat. Half of his yellow robes were black with dust and bloodbat spit.

"Hold still, Mal." Sylvia said, dabbing at the wound with the hem of her new emerald cloak. Malistaire made a vague sound of protest, but she had already finished wiping away the blood. Her hand glowed with green light.

"Your cloak..." He said, "It's–"

"Washable." Sylvia finished. The spell in her hand continued its work, finishing with a last glow and distant ringing, though Malistaire couldn't be sure that wasn't in his head. "How's your vision?"

"Spinning, but good."

"Then you should be fine." She said, collapsing next to him, stones grinding in the gutter below her feet. "Let's sit for a few minutes, then we should head back."

Malistaire was too exhausted to argue, head falling gently onto hers, which had already taken its place on his shoulder. "I'm sorry about getting blood on your cloak." He said quietly.

"It's alright, I just wanted to help."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"You two are disgustingly sappy."

*** 

All of the following years went in much the same way: study, explore, take turns saving each other from the various ghouls and monsters that inhabited secret caves throughout the world.

When both were adults and the time came, Malistaire and Sylvia went their separate ways.

Malistaire went to Dragonspyre. His letters were rife with details of the world's burning rivers of magma and towers of black stone, all written in his careful hand.

His doodled necromancy symbols were also entertaining.

Sylvia went to Krokotopia. She complained, often, of the scorching heat and the sand that always managed to crawl into every sun-bleached crevice of her robe during the day. 

"-I've decided this was a huge mistake, and were it not so bloody interesting I would have gone back to Wizard City by now." She spoke to her room as an enchanted quill by her sleeping mat scribbled down her words. “I’d rather be with you, at any rate, Necropolis and all.”

Sylvia idled there, biting her lip, before continuing.

"Speaking of the dead: Maria wanted something called a Token of Mourning. Apparently they're all over Krokotopia, buried with mummies." Sylvia laughed softly, "They weren't really happy about it, but I managed to find two. What better for my favorite necromancers than a little piece of ancient death magic…"

“I love,” Sylvia looked to her bag, where the crimson tokens glittered on top of her envelopes, and realized she had more to say than the parchment or her good sense would allow room for. "...Love always, Sylvia."

 *** 

Though there were portals between the worlds and Wizard City, their studies demanded too much time to allow for even short trips except on rare occasion. It was nearly two years before either student was allowed to return home for more than a few days and it was the first time they returned simultaneously.

Malistaire had come through first, feeling the energy of the spiral crackle down his spine as he stepped into Bartleby's core. A few other wizards milled about. 

A brunette theurgist caught his eye, but he quickly realized it was not Sylvia and that she wasn't in the room at all.

He turned back to the portal only somewhat put out.

It took another ten minutes before the portal in the center of the room shimmered and the view of Dragonspyre faded, being replaced by yellow sand and a large white pyramid.

Sylvia stepped through.

Her green robes were dusted with sand, her face was a deep tan, and Malistaire realized his feet were moving forward before he could stop them.

"Malistaire!" Sylvia said, dropping her bag and nearly jumping into his arms.

He mentally registered that she had gotten shorter. Or, rather, that he had gotten taller. His height outstripped hers by a healthy measure, where before they had been close to equal.

"How was Krokotopia?"

"Dying hot, honestly," Sylvia answered, grinning up at him, "I'm glad to be back."

"I'm glad you're back too." Malistaire answered, trying not to rub ash on her forehead as he brushed her bangs aside idly. "I missed you."

Her face glowed the faintest pink under her tan and she seemed to perk up even more, as if that was possible. “I missed you too.”

 *** 

Both wizards stayed in the city for two weeks, seeing each other when they could, but both equally consumed by their work.

At twenty-one, the pair were both eligible for true apprenticeship under masters in their fields. Sylvia, quite happily, was apprenticed in the Life school at Ravenwood.

Malistaire, however, did not accept his position. “I’m not finished studying on my own yet,” He explained, “I need to go back to Dragonspyre.”

Sylvia was not happy about it.

“But you just got here!”

“I know, Sylvia, but I can’t stay.”

“You have to,” She pleaded, “You can’t just leave me here, the Spiral practically handed us this chance to work together.” _I don’t want you to leave me again._ “Both of these positions opening at once and you’re just going to leave?”

“No more than six months, I promise.” Malistaire said, “I love you, Sylvia, I don’t even want to be away that long if I can avoid it.”

“I—“Sylvia said. She had turned away in frustration, only to look back at him now, brows arching, “What did you just say?”

“What?”

“You love me.”

Some defensive part of Malistaire wanted to deny it, against all common sense, but he sighed, resisting the urge to drop dead where he stood. “You know I do.”    

“In what capacity?”   

“I am _in_ love with you, Sylvia.” He admitted, fairly certain his pounding heart was going to give way any moment. “But if you don’t feel the same, I—“  

Her face lit up with a smile, “Malistaire,” She said, “I love you too.”

Only a few short weeks later, the pair were never apart. How the tiny brunette had edged into Malistaire’s heart even deeper than she already had was the question of the century, but he was not one to complain.

He had gone to Dragonspyre, in the end, but as a parting gift for his beloved, he had given her a mirror.

“Use this spell,” He instructed, tapping the engraving on its oval face, “And you can see me, no matter where I am.”

She had tried it, then, and the glass shimmered, not unlike a portal, and shown her the ceiling of Malistaire’s room.

“I left it on my desk.” He explained, and Sylvia had laughed and thrown herself into his arms.

“I love it.” She said, “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, my love.”

 *** 

When he returned, (in less than six months, as promised), the relationship did not seem to have waned at all. In fact, both seemed equally as enamored with the other for the next year.

Sylvia had taken to her training with full force, practically teaching some of the life classes herself. The novices were particularly fond of her, a small crown of young teens swarmed about her constantly, begging for stories of her ill-advised wandering through Wizard City and Krokotopia.

“You’ve become a bit of a legend.” Malistaire observed, “I caught three necromancers sneaking out of their dorm, being led by one of your students.”

“I don’t tell them to do it…” Sylvia smiled, “And kids wander, we did.”

“We could defend ourselves.” Her boyfriend responded, “Sarah Lifeshield can’t dodge an acorn.”

“Be nice, she’s only thirteen.”

“Exactly my point.” Malistaire said, rolling his eyes and standing, “Teenagers.”

She followed his lead. “See you later, love.”

He bent to kiss her, “Join me for dinner tonight?”  He was certain she would not refuse, she never had, but all the same. This date was an important one. _Not every day you propose to your love._

Sylvia’s grin widened, “I’d love to.”

 *** 

The engagement was the quiet one. The marriage, even more so.

Neither one inclined to the spotlight, they had both decided that a private ceremony and long honeymoon were perfect, set right after the end of their apprenticeships.

Malistaire had brought Cyrus as his witness, at Sylvia's insistence. If he was perfectly honest, he wasn’t unhappy at his brother’s presence by his side. Cyrus’s reminders not to mess everything up were actually comforting, oddly enough.

Sylvia brought her one of her younger sisters, Juliana, draped in her best pyromancer's robes. Both sisters glowed in the low light of the office, but Malistaire only had eyes for his wife.

Wife, what a word. He could scarcely believe it, minutes, hours, days, or weeks later. Sylvia Drake was his wife.

When the well-wishers had subsided, and the pair of them had gone to visit every in-law, (Malistaire got the short straw in that case, as neither of the Willowmists were especially pleased with their decision to elope), there came the honeymoon.

Malistaire, as he had promised, took his new wife to Dragonspyre.

Despite it being possibly the least romantic world in the Spiral, Sylvia seemed to enjoy it immensely and every moment they didn’t spend in each other’s arms in their temporary home was spent exploring the world Malistaire had called home for over a year.

When the trip neared its end and both lovers realized they couldn’t live forever in a world where nothing grew (which irritated Sylvia immensely, though Malistaire seemed content with it), two letters came in the mail from Cyrus Drake, one for each of them.

Two professors at Ravenwood were retiring.

Cyrus, having been employed there for two years, was the messenger of Headmaster Ambrose’s offer. The pair of them, both past apprentices of the retiring wizards, had been offered their jobs.

Sylvia had made her decision before (metaphorical) nightfall. Malistaire, as if he required any convincing after his wife’s decision was made, followed suit.

Though each teacher had separate apartments attached to their respective buildings, it became quite obvious that both would be inhabiting Malistaire’s rooms. Malistaire had taken one look at the glowing green leaves _that jingled constantly_ painted on Sylvia’s walls and walked straight out, his giggling wife on his heels.

Sylvia, instead, had removed some of the dark black draperies from the apartment and replaced them with green and gold ones, which Malistaire admitted wasn’t a negative modification. A library also seemed to creep into their home with steady intensity, all remaining walls quickly filled with shelves and shelves of books.

This, again, he didn’t mind.

 *** 

"What are those?" Malistaire said, "Glasses?"

"Reading glasses..." Sylvia answered, pushing them up her nose. "Do you like them?"

"Mm," her husband agreed, "They suit you."

"I'm not sure if that's comforting or depressing."

Malistaire chuckled. "I do like them, you look distinguished."

"I look like I can't see my books." Sylvia said, snapping the cover shut and setting the book aside. "How was your class?"

"Pathetic, but that's not unusual." Malistaire answered, looking out onto the sidewalk below where students still milled about, chattering after their classes. "It's like they don't even know how to read..."

Sylvia stood and joined him at the window. "Your standards are too high. Not everyone learns as fast as you."

“You kept up just fine. I think I followed you.”

“But I’m the only one who can beat you, Malistaire,” She grinned, “That’s why I’m your wife.”

“Only that?”

“There are other perks too, I will admit… Every woman wants someone as striking as you on their arm.”

Malistaire chuckled, “So you keep me around for my looks and the fact that I can keep up with you...”

“Yes.”

“Thank you for that.”

 *** 

  
"Oh, leave the boy alone, Malistaire." Sylvia said, patting the poor death student on the shoulder. "He did well."

"Thank you, ma'am." The boy answered.

"Hm." Malistaire said, glaring at his student. Sylvia knew that look, meant to intimidate but never quite reaching real contempt. All the same, the boy under her hand twitched back a hair. "Leave us, Malorn."

"Yes, sir." The boy answered, ducking from under Sylvia's hand and practically running for the door.

"Must you scare them?"

"Yes." Her husband answered, turning to his desk. "How else will they do what I want?"

"Words of encouragement..." Sylvia said, half teasing. "They might actually like you."

"I don't need anybody to like me."

"Now that might as well be the Drake family motto." She said, curling her arms around her husband's waist.

“Of which you are a part."

"Mm, but people do like me."

Malistaire sighed, turning in her grip to face her. "Yes, they do." He brushed a loose strand of hair away from her forehead gently. "Good day?"

"All the better for seeing you, love." Sylvia answered brightly, "Join me for lunch?"

"Of course."

 *** 

"I look like I have a foot in the grave." Sylvia said, peering into the mirror.

"No, you don't." Malistaire answered, kissing the crown of her head. "You look beautiful."

She chuckled despite herself. "Sap," she muttered, continuing her inspection. Forty-five, was she really so old already? Of course, she knew wizards could live for centuries, but that didn't say much for her looks.

Malistaire stepped from behind her. There was no stopping her when she got like this, especially since her reading glasses became a more permanent fixture. She had moped for days about that one.

"I'm going downstairs, love." He called from the next room.

"I'll be right there." Sylvia answered, adjusting her flower crown one more time and turning away from the mirror. "I just need my wand..." She walked to the nightstand and retrieved it and was halfway to the bedroom door when her head suddenly felt very light and her vision turned black around the edges. 

She idled, hand gripping her skull.

"M–Mal..." 

There was a crash as she fell, followed by the rushed footsteps of Malistaire ascending the stairs.

 *** 

"I told you, love, I didn't sleep well last night." Sylvia insisted, "I'm really fine."

"Not sleeping well never causes fainting during the middle of the day." Malistaire answered, "It's odd."

“Yes, a little, but I've been looked over and I'm healthy as a horse. Look," she said, standing from the bed and twirling in a slow circle," Fine. I just got dizzy."

And Malistaire had believed her, though doubt still bit at the back of his mind as the week progressed. True to her word, she had seemed fine, until one day…she wasn’t.

 “Professor!” A young theurgist boy burst into the death classroom during the middle of séance practice, interrupting the spell, and Malistaire would have murdered him then were he not so panicked.

“What is it, boy?”

“Professor Drake, she…” The boy breathed heavily, “She’s sick, or something, sir—“

Malistaire was halfway to the door, pushing it open and ending the student’s sentence with a sharp ‘Class dismissed!’ before anyone else could move. He had strode to the Life classroom and thrown open the door, eyes landing immediately on his wife.

She was awake and seemingly fine, cradling her elbow subtly, but being peered over by what felt like half of the fairies in Wizard City and Merle Ambrose, who spoke to her in low tones.

“So you heard…” Sylvia said, smiling grimly.

“Healthy as a horse, you said,” Malistaire growled, “What happened?”

“My lungs…I—“ She answered, “I don’t know.”

“We have summoned the finest theurgists to find out what ails dear Sylvia, Malistaire.” The headmaster said, “Not to worry.”

There is obviously reason to worry! Malistaire had wanted to scream, because no one seemed to sense the dread in the air. Instead, he nodded and sat next to his wife, murmuring the first in a long line of healing spells.

 ***

Only a few short weeks later, Sylvia had to temporarily retire from her post as Life teacher. She had not the breath to enunciate spells, nor the strength to write them. Even her memory had started to slip from the exhaustion, steps in spells and notes were forgotten with increasing frequency.

Malistaire also became less and less present in the Death school, spending more time at her side as she got weaker. When she became bedridden, he left teaching as well, soon replaced by a mix of substitutes, Malorn Ashthorn among them.

Each day was worse.

Three weeks after the effort of walking became too much and the theurgists had exhausted every spell known to Life magic, Sylvia gave up too.

During the day, Malistaire read to her. They picked through every book in their library.

When they ran out of books, they talked. Just about everything became a topic of conversation, things that had never come up in their near twenty years of marriage.

When Sylvia had the strength, she talked about home, old family stories from back in Wysteria, all of the interesting things she and her sisters had done before she’d become a true theurgist in Wizard City. “My parent’s thought it was hilarious all of their daughters…had chosen different schools, though they were especially surprised by Juliana. A pyromancer…from one of the most famous Life-Storm families…in the Spiral.” She said, chuckling lightly, “Odds of one in seven, it had to happen eventually…”

As her silence was forced to increase by the capacity of her lungs, Malistaire spoke more and more. He told her about old rivalries with Cyrus and the death of his parents, which he had never spoken more than a few words about in the past decade.

Midway through the retelling of one of the great adventures of the young Drake twins, Sylvia went unusually silent, smiling over at her husband, sitting in his silent guardianship beside the bed.

“Bored with my story, love?” Malistaire said, mouth tilting into a faint smirk. “Cyrus never has been very interesting.”

“I love you.” She breathed. “Just thought I’d remind you…”

“I love you too.” He said, placing his hand over hers. Something about her tone made him sober, story forgotten. “I know my stories are no good, but you have to get better, you know… I don’t know what I’d do without you. You’ve been my entire life since I was twelve.”

Sylvia smiled over at him, “After I get over this mess…we’re going on a vacation. A long one.”

“Really?” Malistaire chuckled, “And where do you wish to go?”

“Somewhere warm. Not…” She breathed slowly as if speaking was the most exhausting effort in the Spiral, “Not Krokotopia.”

“Never.”

Sylvia’s eyes were glazed, and Malistaire couldn’t tell if it was the illness or the memories of their studies that brought her into this reverie. “We should go to Dragonspyre…” She said softly, eyes drifting from his face and onto the bedside table, “You can show me the towers.”

They had gone to Dragonspyre before, and he had shown her the towers. This had been several years ago and yet, she had not remembered…

“As soon as you’re better,” Malistaire said, tightening his grip imperceptibly on her small hand, “I promise to show you everything.”

They sat in silence for some time, Sylvia blinking softly and silently, staring into the light of the lone candle at her side. She seemed to be thinking. Her thoughts drifted farther and farther away from the room and him, he could sense it.

“I love you.” Sylvia repeated, eyes floating back to Malistaire’s face. “Don’t…forget.”

“I love you too.” He answered, too quiet for even himself to hear.

His wife made a soft sound, something that might have been a laugh, but never quite coming to fruition.

Her eyes blinked again, light turning them a deep and watery green, before slowly coming to a close. She breathed in silence for what felt like an eternity.

The silence overcame her.

**Author's Note:**

> Never thought a game meant for thirteen-year-olds could give me such emotion...
> 
> I didn't really want to write much about Malistaire's actual madness, just the love that drove him there.  
> Both characters needed some expansion, hence the implied sisters/family for Sylvia and magical artifacts that I completely made up. I felt like they needed to be more real. (And canonically, Sylvia died of some incurable illness, so I picked some symptoms and just kind of let her...fade. It was surprisingly sad to write.)


End file.
